Goggles
by Blitzqueen
Summary: Jetstorm and Jetfire are separated during a battle, and Jetstorm ends up feeling the deepest form of anguish he has ever experienced.


**AN:** On deviantART (under Username TFP-Blitzwing (RP Account, mostly)) I gave myself a list of weekly challenges; this week's, as can be seen, is _"Goggles"_.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, nor TFA, but I _do_ own this depressing tale~

~.~.~

* * *

~.~.~

The gunfire was deafening; the sunlight, blinding. The sound of explosions echo through the sky; screams of pain ring out all around. Long blades clash. The ruins surrounding the sounds of war are unnerving: Buildings blown apart, Energon staining the ground, offlined frames littering the area.

It is among all this chaos that two young brothers had been separated from each other. They are the only flight-capable AutoBots, giving them the largest advantage out of their comrades—able to take to the skies and fire upon their enemy, and then to land with uncanny agility and use their powerful weapons of wind and fire. Aye, the twins may have been created as AutoBot weapons, but they were true soldiers as well, despite their young ages. They fought like all the others—but, they preferred to remain side-by-side through everything they were put through.

So this battle was becoming more difficult for the Jet-Twins by the click. They could no longer see each other, and the chaos surrounding them was making it difficult for them to focus on communicating through their sibling-bonds with each other.

"Jetstorm!" The blue-plated brother looks up as his designation is called, his veiled cyan optics flashing about to the familiar voice. It may not have been his brother, but that voice is another he had been hoping to hear: Sentinel's. "Get down, fraggit!"

It does not take the young Elite Guardsmech long to process those words and do as ordered, diving to the ground before Sentinel lunges in his direction, his blade jabbing forward and a twisted snarl upon the Prime's faceplate. When he withdraws his blade, a mech collapses next to Jetstorm, frame already faded to gunmetal gray, and a gaping wound within his spark-chamber. The youngling feels a large servo grip his shoulder and pull him back to his pedes, and he looks up to see his superior looking down on him.

"I sank jou, Sir. But…have seen my brother..?" Jetstorm questions, casting a quick glance about them—and, quite literally, blowing a DeceptiCon away whom had advanced upon the two of them.

Sentinel's gaze hardens as he shakes his helm. "I haven't laid optics on him since this fight started—find him, quickly! Safeguard's going to be required her shortly…"

"Jes, Sir!" Jetstorm runs off into the fight, toppling enemies—and a few allies—with strong bursts of wind from his servos; his bright optics survey every frame he passes.

 _B-brother..?_ The blue-plated twin stops in his tracks, able to hear his brother's voice through their bond, faintly. _Brother, please…_

 _Vhere jou are? I am coming!_

 _I-I do not know… But S-Starscream came out n-novhere…_

Blue optics widen at his brother's last statement through the bond; that could not be good! He feels a slight pang in his spark as he rushes about in a frantic search for his twin, one servo reaching up to rub at his chest-plating a bit. What could be happening..? Jetfire had blocked him out after sending that final messa—

Jetstorm stops dead, taking to one knee. He reaches down, picking up a very familiar object in his servo, whilst his optics widen. In his grasp is none other than his twin's goggles… "Jetfeereh! Brother! Vhere jou are?!" The mech stands, only then realizing that his legs and servos had begun shaking with fear. Another pang in his spark, and he whips around once, before running off in his original intended direction yet again. "Brother!" he cries out, begging to Primus to hear Jetfire call back. "Brother!"

The flier trips as he sprints, yelping as he careens forward. His helm hits the ground roughly, and blue-tinted glass shatters, the shards sliding in all directions. His free servo—opposite having a death-grip on his brother's goggles—lifts to his faceplate, brushing the broken fragments of his visor and the trickles of Energon from glass away from his faceplate, before he jumps back to his pedes. He wipes coolant away from the corner of his optic—no! He would find his brother, alive!

 _Brother… I-I see jou…_

Before Jetstorm can speak, his brother blocks him out yet again, forcing the blue-plated to stop in his tracks and move in slow circles—using powerful gusts of wind to throw DeceptiCons away from him any time they attempt an advance. And then…there!

Jetstorm rushes to his brother's side—but as soon as he reaches Jetfire, one servo covers an agape mouth and now-visible optics after the shattering of his visor are open wide. "Brother!" he cries, going down to his knees and crawling to his twin's side. "Vhat happenet?" He sets down the goggles and covers the deep wound in his brother's white chest, but the neon pink Energon simply runs past Jetstorm's digits. "S-Sentinel Prime, Sir! My brother requires immediate medical attention! …Sentinel, Sir! …Sir…a-are jou zere..?" The mech shakes his helm, baring his denta, whilst he strikes one fist upon the ground. His communications had been disabled when he hit his helm upon the ground! "No, no!"

The blue-plated mech slips one arm under his sibling's head, the other remaining over Jetfire's wound. "Come on! Get up, brother!"

"…I-I am unable move legs…"

"Other AutoBots need us, brother!"

"P-please… I cannot… I f-feel veak…tired…"

"No! Brother, keep optics open! I get help quick!"

As Jetstorm attempts to stand, a weak servo around his wrist stops him. While his own shake with fear for his twin, Jetfire's own are steady despite the clear weakness in his frame. "Please stay…b-brother…" the mech pleads, looking up with dim yellow optics. He vents through clenched denta, attempting futilely to pull cold air in in order to cool his overheating frame.

Jetstorm's own optics dim to a sickly shade of blue, the battle raging around them forgotten as he kneels yet again. He pulls his damaged brother to his chest, hiding the coolant that threatens to spill from his optics as they close. "I do not vant lose jou…" he murmurs, helm rested against his brother's.

A slight touch to his left servo jerks his attention to it; Jetfire holds his goggles that had been upon the ground, trying to slip them into his brother's grasp. Jetstorm closes his digits around the object. His optics move to meet a pair of golden ones; the white and orange-plated AutoBot offering a weak smile.

No! This would not happen if he could help it!

Jetstorm pushes the goggles back into his brother's servo, shaking his helm. "I vill not be let-ting jou go! Please, brother, fight!"

Jetfire's small smile fades, and he begins coughing as Energon bubbles up into his intake, spraying the substance from his mouth and over his brother as he hacks. _Fight I…I cannot…_ he states through the bond, unable to speak aloud as his coughing-fit continues. He pushes his goggles back toward Jetstorm, who takes them once more. Jetfire releases the object, then, in order to cover his brother's servo that rests over the grievous wound within his chest. Jetstorm's servo turns over, and he locks his digits around Jetfire's. His helm bows and blue optics once more close—but this time, he is unable to hide the tears that stream from them. They run down his cheek-plates, dripping from his chin, and onto his brother's wounded frame in small splotches here and there.

Jetfire's grip on his twin's servo slackens just as Jetstorm screams in agony, leaning over his brother as an unbelievable pain tears through his spark. A deep, aching sorrow washes over him, and he feels as though half of himself had been ripped away and destroyed before his very gaze. He pulls Jetfire closer, his twin limp in his arms.

"No! No, no, no, no! Brother, please!" he screams almost, burying his face against his brother's throat, his shoulders shaking as sobs wrack through his small frame. His grip tightens around Jetfire's goggles almost to the point he could crack the lenses further, before his optics finally open. He looks down at the frame in his arms; that frame now gunmetal gray, optics that had refused to look away from him now black as the light had died from them. The wound's leak had slowed to nearly nothing by that point.

Jetstorm, with servo shaking, closes his brother's dark optics, tears falling onto Jetfire's now-lifeless features. He takes in a shaky vent, before he gently rests his twin upon the Energon-stained ground, taking care to fold Jetfire's servos neatly over his chest, before he stands on weak knees, swaying a bit, before he regains his balance before he may crash back to the ground. His free servo slowly curls into a tight fist, optics brightening to a frightening intensity, and his lip-plates pulling into a feral snarl. Jetstorm's shoulders heave as his vents begin deepening, before he lets out a circuit-chilling scream before lunging back into the battle.

The next DeceptiCon to enter his gaze gets blown to the ground, before the youngling moves over the mech's frame, knees upon the 'Con's shoulders so that he could not get up so easily. He grabs the mech's helm in his servo and, with a terrifying screech, slams the mech's helm back against the ground. He does it again and again, until Energon spatters in all directions—across the ground, onto his servos, even splattering the neon substance against his faceplate.

Jetstorm glances over his shoulder, at the almost peaceful frame of his brother, before baring his denta and fighting back another onslaught of tears. He looks down at his servos, almost as if in horror of himself, stumbling away from the DeceptiCon's offline frame as he gets to his pedes.

He looks down at the goggles still held within his grasp, watching his reflection within one cracked lens. The empty glint in his optics and Energon splotches upon his faceplate frighten him. What is he doing..? Jetfire…he would not want this. He is an AutoBot—yet, he is acting like a DeceptiCon. The very ones he had been trained to fight, to protect others from… Jetfire would _never_ want that—for himself, or his brother.

Jetstorm takes in a rattling vent, optics dimming slightly. "No…zis not needet…" he murmurs to himself, feeling almost sick to his tanks when he looks back to the DeceptiCon's frame. "I vill fight for my brother, but I vill stoop not to Decepti-creeps' level." He looks down at the goggles yet again, slipping them over his helm after only a moment of hesitation so that they rest around his neck. He takes in a slow, even vents; his faceplate takes on a solemn, unreadable expression, before he reenters the fight.

He still feels as though part of his spark had been torn out, but he had a job to do. Mourning was to be done _after_ this fight ended, with the AutoBots victorious and the DeceptiCons either fleeing or locked up in stockade!

~.~.~

Jetstorm dares not utter a word in that moment, walking alongside the floating casket his brother lay peacefully within as it is guided through Iacon's streets. His expression is unreadable to all—in a moment like this, only one was ever able to tell what was on the young soldier's processor. And that one now lay in a permanent slumber, his dark optics closed, a soft expression upon his faceplate. If not for the gray color his frame had turned, one might believe that Jetfire was in recharge.

But Jetstorm was not so easily fooled. Without his twin, there is emptiness within him; his spark itself felt like it was crying out for its brother. Inside, the youngling is breaking down, falling apart—yet, on the surface, he is stoic, standing strong as other AutoBots gaze upon him and each mech to pass before and after him. The battle had been won—certainly, there are many more to come, but six 'Cons had been captured that cycle, and others offlined. They had been victorious! They parade through the streets with smiles upon their lip-plates, as if nothing had been lost.

While all the others clap each other on the backs, high-five, have a laugh together, the flight-capable mech fights back his tears. They all act as if nothing was lost in that battle… Yet, the only thing Jetstorm cared for had been destroyed. His…brother. His twin—they were brothers split from the same spark; the closest type of bond two Cybertronians can possess.

A firm servo upon his shoulder causes the blue-plated flier to jump, before looking to the mech behind him: Sentinel.

"You haven't said a word since the battle."

"…Zere is nussing say, Sir."

The mech is not convinced—he had been the one to watch over the twins ever since specs from Starscream had allowed for them to become flight-capable. In a sense, the Prime is their guardian, or… _Jetstorm's_ guardian… The mechs were not truly old enough to _legally_ take part in the war—but, the fact they were weapons had allowed that rule to be bypassed. Call it an instinct on Sentinel's part due to their age and the fact no one knew who their creators were, but he saw the twins like sons. With Jetfire offline, he felt as though he had failed in perhaps his most important task: Keeping them safe.

A _youngling_ had been killed because he was considered a soldier! And now, though Jetstorm hides his pain alarmingly well, Sentinel knows, by seeing how close the twins were, that Jetstorm was being torn apart inside.

"Look, kid—if you need to talk—"

"I am fine! Leave me alone!" He shoves the older mech's servo away from himself, turning away swiftly. Jetstorm has to fight the urge to wipe at his optics as he struggles to keep the tears from falling. "I-I am sorry, Sir, but I no be talking for vhile…"

He hurries away from his superior, and places a servo upon the edge of Jetfire's casket, bowing his helm as his free servo grips the goggles dangling around his neck.

~.~.~

It had been many cycles, and Jetstorm had not spoken a word—just as he had promised his superior during the parade. He kneels in front of the shrine his brother lay resting in. A beautifully crafted statue stands tall and proud, towering over Jetstorm's helm—he dared not look up at that smile he already missed so much. His brother was gone. Jetfire would not be returning, no matter how hard Jetstorm prayed to Primus that he would.

"I—" He stops as his voice cracks from underuse, his blue optics dull and cheek-plates stained with coolant. "I am sorry, brother… Z-zis is hard…vhy jou?" He bows his helm, looking down to the object in his servos. He had not allowed Jetfire's goggles to leave his sight for even a moment since the battle. "I miss jou, brother…"

Jetstorm gasps as a chill runs down his spinal-strut, causing him to glance back over his shoulder. No one— _nothing_ —is there… He shakes his helm, turning back toward the shrine—only to yelp as it feels like someone places their servos upon his shoulders. "Who is zere?!"

His optic widens as that chill turns into a warm, familiar embrace. "B-brother..?"

A voice, so familiar, embedded into the youngling's spark, echoes softly throughout the room, _~I am vis jou alvays, brother. Do not forget.~_


End file.
